Where Was John?
by internallyscreamingdaily
Summary: Sherlock's tendency to ignore the fact that John isn't always at the flat comes to prove itself a fatal mistake when he doesn't notice that John is missing.


Hey! This is my first Sherlock fiction, so I'm hoping it's not bad. As always, comments are welcome, but please don't spoil the ending for anyone.

If you haven't seen the series or haven't finished it, spoiler alert. I would recommend watching first.

Also, I know that I haven't worked on my ninja turtles story for a while, so I am hoping to get to that this weekend.

* * *

The news hit Sherlock harder than the bullet that Mary had put in his chest how many months ago. He furrowed his brows at Detective Lestrade, pain sparkling in his eyes- something that the detective had never seen from him before.

"That…" Sherlock murmured, his voice shaking, "That can't be right."

Lestrade regarded Sherlock with silent pity as he folded his hands, not to steeple them under his chin as he normally did, but to bring them, trembling, to his mouth. "John is an experienced soldier. It's not as if anyone could have just snuck up on him! And he's an excellent fighter."

Greg sighed. "I'm sorry, Sherlock. He's gone. The doctors said they couldn't do any-"

"Well then the doctors were wrong!" He snapped. "Wrong— wrong wrong WRONG!" He ducked back into the living room of the flat.

Lestrade leaned against the doorway, watching Sherlock carefully.

Sherlock pulled a pack of cigarettes from under the skull, hurriedly lit one with fumbling hands, choked on the smoke, and threw the cigarette at Lestrade.

Lestrade didn't say anything, but made sure to extinguish the still burning cigarette with the bottom of his shoe before it did any further damage.

Sherlock turned away, covering his face in his hands, and let out a strangled sob.

Lestrade looked at the floor, knowing John would have known what to do in this situation. Greg himself could only guess at what would be best. He knew, though, that Sherlock was human, despite how much he might act otherwise. And right now, he was the most human Greg had ever seen him, so he did what he would have done for any of his other friends.

He crossed the room to where Sherlock was standing and hugged him from behind. Sherlock didn't hug him back, he'd have to have been a fool to expect that, but he didn't resist either. He just silently sobbed for a while, until his bright blue eyes were as dull and lifeless as he felt. Finally he took an unsteady breath and asked, "Is that why I haven't seen him in a few days? Why wasn't I notified sooner? When is his funeral?"

Greg backed away and grimaced, taking in a hiss of breath to ready himself. "I'm afraid the funeral has already happened."

Sherlock turned to face him, a little bit of fire back in his eyes. "What?" He spat, deadly poison slipping into his voice.

"You have your brother to thank for that. He knew you'd react badly to the whole thing, so-"

"So he decided to hide the whole thing from me? What, did he think I wouldn't figure it out eventually? That I'd just… _forget John?"_ He let out a cold laugh. "And all those years he thought _I_ was the stupid one!" With that, he ran out the door and out the stairs. A glance out the flat's window told Greg that he was out of the building and on his way down the street.

Greg stopped by Mrs. Hudson's room to tell her to keep an eye on him and left.

It took seconds to figure out where John would be buried. He took a taxi to the cemetery and entered its gates with a quick stride. He crossed the grassy land to a far corner of the cemetery where his own grave stood. Another one was right beside it, gravestone even newer and shinier than his own and dirt freshly disturbed.

The smell of fresh earth covered up any of the familiar smell of John. His John.

Sherlock averted his eyes from the lettering on the gravestone. He knew in the back of his mind that if he saw the words on the stone, he would have to accept the awful reality for himself. He didn't want to see his best friend's name written _there._ Anywhere but _there._

But he knew he had to. He had to accept it. Slowly, he looked at the capital letters engraved on the stone.

JOHN WATSON

NOT DEAD

HOW DOES IT FEEL, YOU MACHINE?


End file.
